


It's In His Kiss

by cocoa_the_maniac, ladyofpride



Series: All good things, you deserve [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Dubious Consent?, Hartley is also a jerk at heart, M/M, Spoilers, Surprise Kissing, set between episodes 11 and 12, unusual tactics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoa_the_maniac/pseuds/cocoa_the_maniac, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofpride/pseuds/ladyofpride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Flash uses a rather unorthodox method to recapture the Pied Piper.</p><p>Despite having been re-incarcerated,  Hartley can't exactly say he didn't enjoy it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In His Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So…I wrote a thing. I’m not even sure why, only that I kind-of-sort-of felt sorry for Hartley, (even if he acts like a complete and utter ass to my darling Cisco…).
> 
> Also, not beta-d, so if you have any qualms about the spelling/grammar/wording, I won’t throw a fit if you tell me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Additional disclaimer: “It’s in his kiss” was taken from the title of a song that was written by Rudy Clark and sung by Betty Everett in 1963/1964. It has actually nothing to do with this story. Whoops.)
> 
> *****Important note: This is a side story set to take place between Episodes 11 (The Sound and the Fury) and 12 (Crazy for You). Having said that, this fic contains some spoilers.

The last and perhaps _greatest_ lesson he ever learned from Harrison Wells was to always have a contingency plan.

He should’ve had one in place when he first approached his old mentor about the glaring flaw in the particle accelerator’s design, but he’s long past caring about that mistake. The only thing he really wants now is to escape this makeshift prison, one he ironically had a hand in designing, and preferably long before Cisco Ramon returns bright and early tomorrow morning to continue his little ‘interrogation’.

Hartley’s gradually been feeding the boy breadcrumbs concerning the disaster that had befallen Caitlin’s ex-fiancé the night their lives practically went to hell, but there’s nothing he would love more at this moment than to drop the case altogether and deny Cisco the help he so desperately needs. Hartley owes the moron nothing really. The little upstart was more than capable of figuring things out for himself.

Cisco was a grown man, _after all_ …

Thinking of his former associate does nothing for his temper though, so Hartley tries to keep himself relatively calm whenever his gaolers leave him to his peace. It’s no easy feat, but he reminds himself that his current abode is only a temporary set-up and that soon enough he’ll be free again, far away from Harrison and his sorry lot. Whatever they might say or do to him, he can endure it in the short period that he is trapped here with them.

Hartley finds himself in one of these calmer moments a couple of days after the Flash captured again him, sitting in the corner of his little cell and listening to nothing but silence. They had taken his hearing aids away after realizing the damage he could do with them, and then placed him in a padded chamber to dampen any noise. It’s a quiet space, to say the least, but a cage is still a cage and he grows weary of waiting for Cisco to screw up.

His Contingency Plan A is simply this: a second explosive, currently hooked up on a small wire coiled carefully within the left temple of his glasses. Once he pulls it out, he has a grand total of three seconds to toss it at the door, whereupon it should blow a hole large enough for him to squeeze through without too much of a struggle.

He knows for a fact that Harrison will not be there to stop him once he gets out. The man had dropped by an hour ago to ask Hartley if he was comfortable with his new ‘arrangements’, speaking in soft, even tones, as though he were explaining the importance of manners to a toddler.

Hartley knew it was only a show, of course. With Harrison’s back turned to the security cameras, no one else could see the hard look in his eyes or the tension at the corner of his lips. Beneath his cool demeanour was an unspoken threat to keep their conversation civil. Hartley doubted the others were aware of this side of Dr. Wells, but he had seen this beast many times before, quite often whenever one of their investors began to get cold feet. He was a fighter, this Harrison Wells.

And he would stop at _nothing_ to get what he wanted.

Hartley understands Harrison’s hostility towards him though. The damage Hartley could do with any one of Harrison’s _many_ secrets would be irreparable, which is why he knows it’s really only a matter of time before Harrison makes an attempt on his life. All the same, Hartley is happy enough to play along for now.

He doesn’t plan on sticking around much longer anyway.

After a brief moment of meditation, Hartley rises to his feet and turns to face the nearest camera. In Spanish, he says _“Did I ever tell you the story of how I met Amando?”_ to see if Cisco is still hanging around. Then he says, in English, _“I know what’s happened to Ronnie Raymond”_ to lure anyone else out into the open, should they be lingering by the monitors.

Then he waits a little while to see if anyone shows up, and smiles when he is met with nothing but silence.

Removing his glasses, he pulls off the left temple tip gingerly with his burnt fingers before tugging out the wire. The explosive on the end is as small as a pinhead but he knows it packs quite the punch, so he curls himself into a ridiculous ball in the far corner of the room after dropping it by the door and prays that he hasn’t somehow miscalculated the blast radius.

The device goes off without a hitch and the cell is suddenly filled with smoke. Despite the fact that he can barely see, he successfully stumbles through the hole on the first try and begins sprinting down the hall as the alarms ring painfully in his ears.

He’s not going to linger this time or waltz right out the front door. He’s not even going to hunt for his damaged gloves. Instead, he makes a beeline for the service corridors and doesn’t stop until he’s outside again, taking in large, heaving gulps of the cold, crisp evening air and feeling a little lightheaded with the taste of his newfound freedom.

The alarms do quite a number on him though, and he stumbles toward the mouth of the alley toward the main road with a distinctive roiling in his gut. Following the spectacular failure of particle accelerator, he had spent days on end in a similar state of agony. He worked through the pain however until he was able to build his hearing aids, but being outside again like this, with the alarms still screaming behind him and the sound of people laughing on the sidewalk up ahead, his world begins to tilt precariously to the left…

Hartley wonders, not for the first time, if all this ungodly noise will somehow be the death of him.

He presses onward though, because he’s never been a quitter, although he’s ultimately done in after a few staggering steps by what sounds like a head-on collision between two trucks. There’s the screech of tires against the pavement, then a sickening crunch, followed shortly by a horn that Just. Won’t. _Stop…_

It’s far too much, and all at once, like blunt force trauma directly to his brain. It sets his every nerve on fire—all sizzling, all alight, all registering _the pain_. He’s resisted the urge to jab a pencil into his ears once before, but this is almost too much. Quite literally, it feels as though his head is about to explode.

Distantly, he realizes he can hear someone screaming, although as he collapses to his knees in that lonely little alleyway, vision swimming, it dawns on him that that someone might actually be him.

Then suddenly, it’s all over. For the most part, anyhow. He’s still kneeling there in the dead of night with that insistent ringing in his head, but someone’s hands are covering his ears. It’s stupid, really, because it doesn’t block out all the noise, but the sound is muffled under the staccato heartbeat of the owner of those mysterious hands, a sound which grounds Hartley in a way he would _never_ admit to anyone.

He’s not sure who he should expect, but upon opening his eyes he is greeted with an image of the Flash, eyes blown wide with panic behind his ridiculous mask. So Hartley opens his mouth to scream a second time—not in pain, but in fury, because of all the people that could have saved him tonight, it just _had_ to be him…

Except he doesn’t.

Scream, that is, because as soon as he draws enough air in between his clenched teeth, he feels too-soft lips pressed up against his own. Not in a demanding sort of way, no…more like a small surrender.

A _plea_.

It shocks Hartley, to say the least, but he’s pretty sure the fool only does it because it’s honestly the only thing he can think of _to_ _do_. Never one to waste an opportunity though, and given that it is _entirely_ unfair that the Flash would use a man’s sexual orientation against him, Hartley decides to teach the boy a lesson by accepting the awkward invitation for what it is and just _going_ for it.

While the Flash is still stunned by his own actions, Hartley cups the back of the kid’s head with one tender hand and his delicate jaw with the other, and then deepens the kiss before the boy’s brain has a chance to catch up with the rest of him.

Maybe it’s pity, or maybe ( _maybe?_ ) this boy really isn’t all that bothered by having another man’s mouth latched firmly onto his own, because the Flash just lets Hartley kiss him exactly as he pleases. He parts his lips obligingly when Hartley presses in with his tongue and relinquishes all control to his enemy, and for a moment Hartley almost feels downright _invincible_.

The sensation is short lived however, because some distant part of Hartley’s brain thinks this kiss almost feels a little like an apology too. But then, what does _the Flash_ have to apologize for? Of the two of them, Hartley is the only one who’s conspired to commit murder…

If he stops to think about it though, he already knows the answer to that question. It’s because the Flash probably understands, to some degree, a sliver of the mental and emotional anguish Hartley has suffered in the last year. Hartley’s not sure what trials or tribulations the boy has had to endure himself leading up to his new stint as a vigilante, but Hartley figures the kid must realize that the grave injustice Hartley has had to suffer at Harrison’s hands is one that nobody in the world can rectify, even if a part of the Flash probably still yearns to be _everyone’s_ hero.

He can’t be Hartley’s hero though.

Which is why Hartley’s figures his compliance in this kiss is more likely an apology than anything else.

 _‘I don’t need your pity,’_ Hartley thinks bitterly as he pulls away, something twisting painfully in his chest. Guilt or revulsion, he can’t really tell.

He just wants this goddamn night to end already.

The Flash graciously gives him a moment to catch his breath. Then almost immediately they’re standing on the threshold of another one of Star Lab’s makeshift cells, not padded but still quiet, his _newest_ accommodations for the foreseeable future.

Hartley stumbles to his feet to increase the distance between them, but very nearly topples over when the Flash suddenly decides to do a quick rotation around him. Hartley can’t be entirely sure, but it feels an awful lot as though…as though…

“I’m sorry, but did you just _undress_ me?”

He’s wearing his clothes right now, of course, but he has the distinct feeling of having just received a rather thorough pat down. Hartley wouldn’t exactly blame the guy—he _had_ just escaped his cell for the second time in so many days—but the boy’s boldness surprises him, nonetheless.

“Do you have any other gadgets I should know about?” is the Flash’s modest response.

“No.” Which is the honest truth, but he’s pretty sure that the kid already knows that. Then, to see if he can make the boy uncomfortable, Hartley says, “For future reference, sweetheart, I never strip alone.”

Somehow, Hartley’s not expecting the wink. Nor is he expecting the Flash’s cheeky retort of “What makes you think you were the only one naked?”

Because, _lord_ …of _all_ the unholy things that stupid kid could have thought of to say…

Before Hartley can collect himself, he’s already formed a mental image of his enemy in the nude. That itself is not disturbing—when someone tells you to picture them naked, your imagination will probably devote itself whole-heartedly to the task before you have a chance to stop it. What _is_ disturbing is that Hartley is suddenly getting hard at the thought of stripping the boy out of that suit, because, well, _yeah_ …the Flash is the right height and build for him, in that skinny-but-fit sort of way, and he has an easy sort of smile that reaches his eyes. If they were just two regular fellows bumping into one another at the bar, Hartley totally would’ve made a pass at him.

Giving Hartley a little thrill has probably been the Flash’s plan all along though, because the doors to his cell are suddenly closing and Hartley can’t be half assed to put up a fight. Even _knowing_ that he’s been bested, Hartley still feels pretty mellow about the odd turn of events, because he can’t exactly _hate_ the guy he suddenly wants to fuck six ways to Sunday…

It is then that Hartley gets the sudden overwhelming urge to tell the Flash the truth about Harrison Wells. At least _one_ of the truths, anyway. And he almost does,before he notices the wheelchair at the end of the hall and the stoic man currently sitting in it.

Hartley had already opened his mouth to say something though before his brain was able to register Harrison’s unexpected presence, so he decides to test a theory by instead asking, “In all honesty— _if_ we were just two normal law-abiding citizens, what are the chances a guy like me could get lucky with a guy like you?”

The Flash, bless his soul, pauses to give this question careful consideration. “Well…somewhere between a five and an eight out of ten, I imagine.”

“Between a _five_ …and an _eight_? What the hell is the deciding factor here?”

“How well you treat my friends after the first date.”

Hartley scoffs at that, because it almost sounds like a small plea on the Flash’s part to give Cisco a break. However, Cisco is his Contingency Plan _B_ , so that is pretty much _never_ going to happen…

Hartley shrugs in the way of an apology. Then he stares back down the hall at good ol’ Harrison Wells, taking note of the sudden tightness in the man’s features. Harrison is mad, that’s plain enough to see. Probably ‘ _livid_ ’ would be a better descriptor here, though certainly not because Hartley had almost escaped a second time tonight.

No, he’s more likely upset because Hartley has been blatantly flirting with a certain special _someone_ …

Heck, maybe Harrison even saw them _kissing_.

“I think you need new friends,” Hartley replies quietly, trying to sound petty when really a part of him is afraid for this kid’s life. “The ones you’ve got right now are only going to let you down.”

“I trust that they won’t.”

“Thinking that was _my_ first mistake.” Hartley turns his back on the Flash then, because he’s suddenly tired and his head feels as though someone is trying to pry it open with a crowbar. “Good night, Flash.”

“…Good night, Rathaway.”

Hartley doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that the Flash has pretty much vanished into thin air. Harrison is probably still lurking there at the end of the hall, but it is unlikely that the man will chastise him tonight when the vigilante is still hanging around somewhere in the building. That means Hartley can sit back down and close his eyes, wile away the remainder of the evening figuring out the best way to trick Cisco into letting him out of here…

At least he tries to, because he can’t help but wonder… not necessarily about the expanse of smooth skin that must be tucked away under all that red leather, but actually the night he had seen the prototype for the vigilante’s costume, stretched out on a mannequin in one of the old storerooms. He had only stumbled across it because he had been working late and had wanted to chat with Dr. Well’s, who he found standing there in the threshold, staring at what would hopefully one day become a new suit for Central City’s fire brigade.

It was only the first of many instances that suggested something was wrong with Harrison Wells, but it sticks out in Hartley’s mind because it is also the first real clue he has of what it was exactly Harrison hoped to accomplish by letting the accelerator explode. The adjustments Hartley had suggested they make to its design would have set them back a couple of months, _yes_ , but he had honestly never expected the meticulous Dr. Well to shut him down so thoroughly for his concerns. And all for _what_ exactly?

Well…Hartley _knows_ what, but he won’t ever say it aloud. Not yet, anyway. If he so much as breathes a word in this place, Harrison will carve out his heart and cram it down his throat.

All the same, the clock is ticking down the hours for Harrison Well. His little game of light and shadows is almost at an end.

Barry Allen will learn the truth soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve always had a feeling that Hartley knows way more about Harrison and the Flash than he was ever letting on in his debut. The actors say that the story behind Harrison’s perpetual shadiness has yet to be discussed on any internet forum, but I bet it’s something juicy, and Hartley strikes me as the sort of guy who knows only the juiciest of secrets…. 
> 
> (PS: True story—I honestly once thought the big secret was that Harrison was Barry’s real father, because, me being an idiot, I started watching the show before I even knew what a ‘Reverse Flash’ was…Seriously, I was that stupid).
> 
> ((PPS: poetryofearth, despite what you might think, this is not, in fact, the contribution to the fandom I was alluding to earlier. The Harrison/Barry piece turned into something so dark and twisted that I now have trouble letting it out of the box. You’re not going to love me anymore when I get around to posting it…))


End file.
